


Initialism

by brinnanza



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s07e03 Lil, Hair-pulling, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 04:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: “Just tell me what it stands for, BJ!”BJ turns around, martini glass in hand and looking infuriatingly smug. “I told you,” he says, without even the good grace to look contrite. “Anything you want.”Which is exactly the answer Hawkeye had been expecting. The one he’d been hoping for, even. “Anything?"





	Initialism

**Author's Note:**

> Initialism: Acronyms that are read letter by letter as opposed to as a whole word.
> 
> This fic plays kind of fast and loose with the history of the term "bj" but shhh it's MASH anachronisms are traditional. Thanks to Floot for beta reading!
> 
> This is not technically part of The More the Merrier because Lil happens just a bit too early in season seven, but if you rearrange the episodes a little bit then it totally works.

Plan A for Operation “Get BJ to Admit What His Damn Initials Stand For Already” (asking him directly) gets Hawkeye absolutely nowhere, and plans B through E (asking him in an increasingly whiny tone to irritate him into giving up the goods) don’t fare much better. Plan F (also known as plan “telegram everyone BJ’s ever spoken to”) is foiled by BJ’s penchant for lying on official documentation and to all his friends and loved ones, the fink.

The less said about Plan G the better.

Plan H (leaping out at BJ from behind corners and asking when he’s least expecting it) is, in Hawkeye’s esteemed opinion, a work of genius, but instead of confessing his name, BJ just starts responding to anyone saying “BJ” with an automatic “Anything you want!” Were Hawkeye a lesser man, he might have taken advantage of this quirk by slipping in little requests BJ might not have agreed to had he been paying attention like “Can I borrow your aftershave, BJ?” or “Pretty sure this is my t-shirt, BJ.” Fortunately, Hawkeye is a paragon of morality, not to mention an excellent friend, so he only does it once. (Okay, maybe twice, and then BJ gets wise to it.)

Plan I is stymied by Potter’s refusal to let him call BJ’s parents (not to mention Radar’s tattling), but Hawkeye is pretty sure he’s found a winner in Plan J. It’s certainly his finest work so far -- just the right combination of demanding and convincing (and, more importantly, it will be _fun_ ).

He waits for a lull that’s long enough to move from a welcome break to boring (so about a day), and then he corners BJ in the Swamp after Charles has left to harangue Potter with his daily transfer request. BJ’s at the still, pouring himself a drink and half-listening to Hawkeye natter about whatever comes into his head, when Hawkeye comes up behind him and switches gears mid-sentence to say, “Just tell me what it stands for, BJ!”

BJ turns around, martini glass in hand and looking infuriatingly smug. “I told you,” he says, without even the good grace to look contrite. “Anything you want.”

Which is exactly the answer Hawkeye had been expecting. The one he’d been hoping for, even. “ _Anything_?” He plucks the martini glass from BJ’s fingers, sets it aside, and then drags his gaze slowly up the length of BJ’s body, pausing briefly at all his favorite bits. (It’s only mostly for show.) “Anything at all?”

“Anything you want,” BJ repeats, but there is an extremely gratifying flicker of apprehension on his face before it settles into simmering want.

Hawkeye takes another step forward, crowding BJ up against the still table. He presses in until there’s hardly a hairsbreadth between them, and he can feel the heat of BJ’s skin even through their fatigues. He drops his voice to a low purr. “I can think of at least one thing with those initials we might both enjoy.”

“Oh?” BJ says, a challenging eyebrow raised, but he’s breathing just a bit faster than he was a moment ago, and he reaches back to grip the edge of the still table.

Hawkeye licks his lips deliberately, watching BJ’s eye flick down to his mouth. “What do you think, Beej?” He trails a finger up BJ’s chest and then curls it around the chain of his dog tags. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

BJ swallows hard, and Hawkeye can practically see the wheels in his head turning, weighing the desire to undermine Hawkeye’s latest scheme against the possibility of Hawkeye’s extremely talented mouth on his cock. 

Hawkeye decides to give him a little preview to help him make up his mind. He tugs on BJ’s dog tags and pulls him into a soft, slow kiss, closing the remaining distance between them. Hawkeye gives a slow roll of his hips and curls his tongue into BJ’s mouth, finding BJ is already half hard. (Hawkeye is a few steps ahead of him, anticipation buzzing hot under his skin, but it’ll keep.)

Kissing BJ is like a riptide, and Hawkeye is tempted to let it pull him under, drag him out to sea until he’s lost in it. Instead, he breaks the kiss and slides to his knees, running his palms up BJ’s thighs. “Well?”

BJ gives a helpless little moan, hips jerking forward involuntarily. He tangles a hand in Hawkeye’s hair, fingers twitching like he’s trying not to pull, and Hawkeye leans into the touch, his eyes slipping closed. 

“You’re a damn tease,” BJ says. His voice is low, rough in a way that sends a shiver down Hawkeye’s spine. BJ will be his undoing; Hawkeye knows this as surely as he knows the bones of his hand, a nameless dread that permeates every second he spends here. He’s not sure two weeks would make the war worth it, but if anything might, it’s this.

Hawkeye leans back a little and looks up at BJ through his lashes, his innocent expression probably somewhat undercut by the heat in his gaze. “It’s only a tease if I get up and walk away,” he says, fingers dancing feather-light over the front of BJ’s trousers. “You don’t want me to do that, do you Beej?”

BJ lets out a frustrated growl, and now he does pull Hawkeye’s hair, a sharp tug that drags a whimper out of Hawkeye as the embers of arousal in his gut catch flame and threaten to consume him. “But you’re _not_ gonna get up, are you Hawk?” BJ says in that same throaty tone. It’s enough of a question that Hawkeye could stop if he really wanted to, but he’s helpless to resist the steely edge in BJ’s voice.

“I might,” Hawkeye says, just to be contrary. BJ pulls on his hair again and a soft moan escapes him, fire spreading until it’s almost too hot to bear. “No,” he revises, and the smug grin on BJ’s mouth is almost as attractive as it is annoying. Hawkeye leans in to mouth at BJ’s cock; another tug and he’s scrabbling with the zip, shoving trousers and shorts aside to free BJ’s erection.

BJ’s cock is as gorgeous as the rest of him, and Hawkeye is suddenly _breathless_ with want, like it’s the only thing that will douse the flames. There’s a rush of white noise in his ears, blocking out everything except a desperate need to get his mouth on BJ’s cock immediately, so he does, sucks him down wet and messy and moans around him. BJ keeps pulling on his hair, unable to stop the jerky little thrusts of his hips. 

“ _Hawkeye_ ,” BJ gasps, “god -- yes --” His grip in Hawkeye’s hair is tight enough to hurt. Hawkeye is so hard he’s almost dizzy with it, and he thinks he might come just from this, straddling the line of pleasure and pain and listening to BJ pant his name in a desperate, needy voice.

He tilts his head back a little so he can look up at BJ. BJ’s eyes are on him -- he almost never closes his eyes when they have sex, like he’s trying to memorize it. Hawkeye can understand the impulse -- BJ is beautiful like this, biting his bottom lip and gripping the edge of the table. He’s a beacon of light in olive drab darkness, and Hawkeye wants this moment framed, something _good_ he can take home from this -- 

BJ’s thighs twitch and he lets out a ragged, “ _Hawk_ ,” and Hawkeye can tell he’s getting close. Hawkeye’s not exactly that generous, not yet, not when he started this particular venture with a goal in mind. He wraps a hand around the base of BJ’s cock and pulls off, drawing a whine from BJ as he bucks against Hawkeye’s grip.

“Come on,” BJ demands roughly, yanking at Hawkeye’s hair impatiently. It’s almost enough to break Hawkeye’s tenuous grip on his self control, but there will be time for that in a minute.

“You want to come?” He gives BJ’s cock a slow stroke, and BJ tips his head back, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Please --”

“Tell me what it stands for,” Hawkeye says with another maddeningly slow stroke. His voice is fairly even, and when BJ looks down at him again, Hawkeye lifts his eyebrows mildly. It’s a Tony-winning performance, really, considering Hawkeye is about one second from tackling BJ onto a cot and rubbing off against his thigh while he finishes what he’s started.

“What what stands for?” BJ says, thoroughly confused, and if Hawkeye wasn’t quite so confident in his skills, he might think it an affectation. (It’s not. Hawkeye takes particular pride in turning BJ’s brain to mush with his tongue.)

“Your name.” He’s feeling a little bit cruel, so he swipes his thumb over the head of BJ’s cock. “BJ. What does it stand for?”

BJ shoves his hips forward for more friction, a frustrated growl tearing out of his throat, but Hawkeye holds him steady. “It doesn’t -- ah -- it doesn’t stand for anything. Hawkeye, _please_ \--” He tugs at Hawkeye’s hair, reaches down to hook his fingers in the collar of Hawkeye’s shirt, his hips still making abortive little thrusts. “Please -- fuck -- _god damn it, Hawkeye_.”

It’s sheer stubbornness holding Hawkeye back now, but he’s done more with less. “So help me god, Hunnicutt,” he says, jerking roughly at BJ’s cock, “I will call your _wife_. Does Peg even know what your real name is?”

BJ lets out a strangled cry, the hand in Hawkeye’s hair tightening, and then he’s coming, his mouth slack and his chest heaving. Hawkeye loosens his own grip, letting BJ thrust into the tight circle of his fingers as he rides it out and tries not to be offended. (He’s not especially successful, but he’s also too turned on to pay it much mind.)

“ _Hawkeye_ ,” BJ groans, and Hawkeye rises to meet him as he slumps forward. BJ rests his forehead against Hawkeye’s shoulder to catch his breath, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin he can reach. After a moment, he lifts his head and gives Hawkeye a pleased, sated grin.

Hawkeye attempts to school his features into something approximating his usual impish charm, but he’s just a second too late, and BJ’s eyes go wide. “No, Hawkeye, I wasn’t -- I wasn’t thinking of her until you mentioned her, I promise. I know who I’m with.” BJ’s cheeks go a little pink. “I just didn’t expect her name in your mouth to be so...:”

“Hot?” Hawkeye supplies. 

BJ gives a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Hawkeye says breezily. He’d known what this was when they got into it, that it was only a temporary arrangement born of a desperate circumstance. (Still, his mind is already spinning off on ways to make use of this information later -- some perfectly innocent-sounding conversations in the mess hall, for example.) “But you owe me. Cough it up, Beej. Mine for yours, that was the deal.”

BJ’s expression sharpens, his mouth curving into a slow smirk. “Is that so?” He steps forward, backing Hawkeye up until Hawkeye’s legs hit BJ’s cot and he drops down onto it. BJ follows him down, straddling his hips and caging Hawkeye in with his arms, and any flames that might have been doused by BJ’s new kink roar up once again. 

“How about this?” BJ says in a deceptively even voice that Hawkeye doesn’t trust for a second. “I can either tell you what BJ stands for --” he glances meaningfully down at the bulge in Hawkeye’s trousers “-- or I can give you one.”

...Plan K, Hawkeye decides, will probably be amazing. He’ll think of it later.


End file.
